


Reving up the Engine

by Arithanas



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Gang Rape, M/M, Missing Scene, War Boys, machinery metaphor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-01
Updated: 2016-08-01
Packaged: 2018-07-28 14:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7643419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max paid dearly for his attempt to escape</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reving up the Engine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverDolphin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDolphin/gifts).



The hard stones hurt Max Rockatansky’s freshly tattooed back and his head bumped on the uneven floor. The savage, gleeful cries of the War Boys reverberated on the thick walls carved inside the mountain.

Everything was happening too fast to make good sense of it.

“We are kama-crazy war-boy!” A chorus of voices chanted at the top of their lungs. “And we caught high octane blood bag!”

“Who we are!?”

“Kama-crazy war-boys!”

“And what do we have?”

“High octane blood bag!”

Max’s eyes were still blinded by the sunlight but the back shoulders dragging him inside the bowels of the mountain were visible and he shuddered at the sight of that emaciated figures full of activity. They were too many to attempt another scape.

“Bring it in!”

“No, Organic Mechanic!” One of the War Boy shouted, savage joy in his voice. “We caught the blood bag! It’s full of high octane crazy blood. We will rev the engine!”

“We will make it roar!”

“We’ll force it to produce more guzzolene!”

Max struggled against their grip. There was an urgent sensation of alarm wheeling in the bottom of his belly.

The old fight-or-flight reflex was kicking in with tons of joules of force and that feeling doubled when the Organic Mechanic shrugged and returned to his shop.

“Turn the blood bag in when you are done!”

Max realized his fate was sealed when he saw that dirty man’s back and felt the numerous fingers of the War Boys clawing him and carrying him over the water. The cradling motion was anything but soothing.

They chanted as they transported him and their chant received replies from every other War Boy in their way. The bastards were celebrating their comrades as if they were war heroes.

The altar was the first thing that interrupted the monotony of the carved stone. A pile of steering wheels shone in the natural light. Max was drop without ceremony as the War Boys formed a line in front of the pile and joined their hands in a strange signal.

This was the moment Max was waiting. Escape was possible.

Slowly, trying not to raise suspicions from his captors, Max started to move backwards, toward the tunnels. If there were any more enemies, he would have to deal with those when time was appropriate.

“V8!” the War Boy shouted and then they turned their attention to the man.

Their enraged shouts spurred Max but it was too late and the exit was still too far away.

“Engine block!” One of the War Boys called while the rest of them started to peel off the last pieces of clothes from Max’s body.

“You will be the engine block now, Blood Bag!” One of the War Boys shouted excitedly in front of Max’s face.

Max lunged forward, daring a bite with all the force of his desperation. His teeth chattered and the groaned in frustration. The War Boy pulled back, laughing.

“So mighty! He would endure the piston for hours!”

Before Max could thrust forward for the second bite, a braid made of connector cables was placed between his teeth and fastened securely behind his head.

“High octane!”

“Put him on the Engine block!”

Max fought against the hands that held him, against the gag, and against his fate but battle was lost. He was draped over the old, massive engine block of a defunct war rig and bound closely to it with more cables.  Max groaned as the hard metal dug on his naked hips and his unprotected chin.

Fate was a terrible, unbeatable thing.

“We must keep him alive,” The leader of the War Boys reminded the chorus. “We just want to rev the engine so he could poor guzzolene more efficiently.”

“We know!” a War Boy reassured him as he approached the Engine Block with an old-fashioned oil dispenser. “We will piston his engine and made him roar.”

“Then we will return him to the Organic Mechanic!”

The laugh filled the room and, in a desperate attempt to rebel against his captors, Max tried to get rid of the cables, but they cut deep into his flesh. The unyielding metal edges rubbed hard against his hipbones that lacked a protective layer of flesh.

Their mirth didn't hinder the War Boys to continue with their preparations. The bleeding tip was inserted into Max’s butthole extracting a desperate roar.

“The machine is already roaring and we haven't pushed the piston in!”

The oil tricked down Max’s leg. Thick, oil motor was spread with the bleeding tip of the lubricating canister.

“I'll go first and break the head gasket...”

For a frightful moment, Max’s mind ran wild with the fear the action would be acted upon literally, but the War Boy aimed his cock to his hole and pushed slowly.

The piston was inserted unhurriedly but with conviction, driving Max’s hips deeper into the engine block.

Max groaned savagely, his legs tried to kick, but cables were too strong.

The piston went down and Max felt how his fury renewed as if the fuel chamber of his anger was replenished.

A cycle was completed and the anger was sparked. Max couldn't endure that treatment without any complain.

“Rev the engine!” The rest of the War Boys were chanting, their hands joined in that strange signal. “Rev the engine!”

With mechanical precision, the War Boy completed each fuel injection cycle. Piston up and piston down, the rhythmical movement was cutting Max’s hips against the unforgiving metal.

Max’s voice was his only way to show his displeasure, but his screams didn't stop the War Boy when he hollered he's adding additive to the combustion chamber.

The spent cock was retired from the unwilling flesh and Max allowed himself to draw a long breath before a new cock replaced the former and the chant started again.

With wild eyes, Max turned his head over his strained shoulders and his mind registered seven War Boys, plus the one who was engaged on stirring the oil inside his rectum.

Eight War Boys...

Eight Valves in any machine worthy of its gasoline...

It took him his sweet time to notice this was a ritual and the prospect of being roughed over an old engine block six more times became unbearable.

Max Rockanstasky screamed his despair, but his voice was not enough to quiet the gleeful encouragement of the War Boys.

If anything, his screams only added to their satisfaction, but knowing it didn't keep him quiet.

There was no manner to know how much time the ritual took. His mind was focused on the way his hipbones ground against the alloy of the mechanical piece and the pain it brought to his malnourished flesh.

After the forth invasion, Max lost count of the number of times he was ridden. The War Boys might be half-lives, but by the time one was spent, other was ready to take his place.

Piston up, piston down...

Even his body conspired against Max. That body that was not stranger to anal sex refused to extract any pleasure from the ritual.

By the time it was over, Max lacked the strength to fight the cables anymore. Forget about to resist his captors.

The brazier was brought to the altar and the coal shone bright and hot. The branding iron was shoved among the embers and the War Boys repeat their hand gesture, chanting “V8!” repeatedly.

The smell of burned flesh rose in the confined space.  Max was conscious that his own flesh was burning, but his brain didn’t register the pain over his abused ass.

His mind was being consumed with only one idea: he needs to survive.


End file.
